“We need the sweet pain of anticipation to tell us we are really alive.”

I tried to remind myself of this Albert Camus line every time I passed the once-shuttered pedestrian bridge spanning the Nhiêu Lộc–Thị Nghè Canal near the Saigon Zoo.

Spanning the water between the Thị Nghè Bridge and Điện Biên Phủ Bridge, the beloved canal’s first pedestrian crossing will offer locals a modestly more convenient route from District 1 to Bình Thạnh. Reported to be 90% complete and “operational soon” back in December 2023, the humble infrastructure project remained frustratingly sealed behind corrugated steel sheets for months. It looked done, and I’d occasionally see workers on it painting some railing trim or staircase accents, yet for inexplicable reasons, we could not use it. This went on for months. 

As the wait dragged on, I sat down to write this piece. I decided that laughable delay shouldn't be an opportunity to bemoan the city’s infrastructure incompetence or to express skepticism for the other, larger pedestrian bridge recently announced, to say nothing of grander projects. There is enough negativity in the world and I didn’t want to sully anyone’s afternoon with my privileged bitching and bellyaching. 

Instead, when I passed the pedestrian bridge twice a week to attend Vietnamese class, I tried to see it as an opportunity to savor anticipation. The structure, simple in its severe cement, steel, and concrete, offered a lesson in delayed gratification. Humans do better with things to look forward to. The visible but closed bridge was a gift like the wrapped packages my parents would place under the tree a few days before Christmas, their presence heightening my excitement and making me appreciate them more once opened.

On July 4, I went to take photos of the metal barricades and found the bridge, shockingly, open. With no official announcement or news reports, and since my visit two days prior, it had opened. For the first time, I stepped onto the bridge, took a few photos, gazed at the scenery, and then stopped. I didn’t actually need to cross; I had no reason to go to the other side. The bridge has no use for me. Thankfully, Saigon has no shortage of sweet pains to remind me I am alive.

To Đặng Thái Tuấn, the talent behind illustration project “Vietnam Retropunk,” whimsical depictions of robots and animatronics sprouting out from everyday objects and activities embody the space in between the ancient and the futuristic.

If Vietnam had advanced significantly in machinery and technology since the 1970s, what would it look like? Tuấn explores this question in “Vietnam Retropunk,” an ongoing series consisting of 16 total illustrations making up two books (so far). Woven throughout the series is a sense of nostalgia for Vietnam’s recent past, including important historical episodes like the subsidy era in Hanoi.

Everyday scenes with just a little sprinkle of cyberpunk.

Using a bright color palette and blending pop art, pen art, vintage, and futuristic style elements, Tuấn depicts quintessential Vietnamese everyday objects and activities such as bánh chưng, xe xích lô, street vendors, and mothers on a groceries run, with the addition of robots and animatronics: a cheeky little girl sits eagerly awaiting her robot to stuff, wrap, cook, assemble, and steam her bánh chưng; a mother with grey-streaked hair in floral pajamas is carried by a diligent cart-robot hybrid on the way to get groceries. “I love and wish to depict things that seem simple yet, upon closer observation, express unique stories and qualities of Vietnam,” Tuấn tells me in Vietnamese during our virtual chat.

The North-South Express reimagined as a robotic dragon.

The series is heavily imaginative. Tuấn calls upon childhood through commonplace motifs that are sure to resonate with many Vietnamese readers: toys, traditional food, street snacks, daily commute vehicles, and female figures — the mother, the aunt, the student in áo dài. “I hope that the motifs used evoke in audiences both feelings of familiarity and novelty,” Tuấn explains. “Most of what I depict, the everyday subject matter, feels familiar, but here and there, certain aspects feel altered or standout in a way that may surprise and make audiences think.”

Our childhood toys in mecha form.

In ‘Cảnh Phố’ or ‘Random Streets,’ for example, Tuấn points out how it might seem like your average train on first glances, but the precise inspiration is Hanoi's “tàu điện leng keng,” a network of old tramway criss-crossing in the capital from 1901 to 1991. This is one example of an element of a time Tuấn, having been born in 2000, barely experienced. “These images and way of life mainly exist through stories told to me by my parents and other adults in repetition, [details] that I relish on online archives such as Ảnh Hà Nội Xưa,” says Tuấn. This balance between familiarity and novelty, doused with imagination and recollection, encourages audiences to hold dear the smaller things that make up the Vietnamese way of life in past decades.

New ways to đi chợ!

“Vietnam Retropunk” is therefore a blend of classic (retro) and futuristic (punk) — the punkness here is from cyberpunk, a subgenre of science fiction in a dystopian futuristic setting. Art that is cyberpunk often uses a combination of lowlife and high tech juxtaposed with societal collapse to highlight the detrimental impact of drug culture, technology, and the sexual revolution. Tuấn cited Akira from Katsuhiro Otomo, Ghost in the Shell by Masamune Shirow, Cyberpunk 2077, The Blade Runner franchise, and Akira Toriyama as inspirations and personal heroes.

I also offered The Matrix trilogy, to which he agreed. We realized that there was a universality to the cyberpunk subgenre, especially its aesthetics — the doubtful yet eager reception of industrialization and technological revolution in the face of tradition and normalcy. Yet unlike most referenced cyberpunk inspirations, Tuấn’s work is anything but gloomy or nihilistic. With “Vietnam Retropunk” specifically, he wanted to connect with his roots — Hanoi specifically, and Vietnam at large — and embrace his love for where he came from in a way that was authentic to him.

Get your gas the futuristic way.

Given his current high demand, as seen in a thriving freelance portfolio encompassing well-known names such as TiredCity and Uniqlo, one would not have guessed that Tuấn recently graduated with a degree in IT. His journey to illustration has not been linear. “Having always had a knack for design, I had applied to design school at the end of my secondary years, failed short of that, made a pivot, only to find my way back through part time design jobs," Tuấn both bashfully and blissfully recalls.

He went through a period of assembling an amateurish CV and portfolio sparse with nothing but hobby-based drawings and secondary school projects, and getting rejected by all full-time positions except one, a graphic designer job at Memolas, a yearbook design and manufacturing company. It was here where the idea for ‘Bánh Chưng’ or ‘Banh Chung Making Machine,’ the first of “Vietnam Retropunk”’s illustrations, was conceived and realized on a shabby, off-brand tablet bought off of Shopee. As his designs gained traction, Tuấn rewarded himself with a second-hand iPad where the rest of “Vietnam Retropunk” came to be.

The first-ever illustration that started it all.

Having graduated from the simplistic short stories, Tuấn’s portfolio now boasts mesmerizingly detailed, larger-scale illustrations like ‘Hà Nội Rong’ or ‘Moving Hanoi’ that won him a design competition hosted by TiredCity. Looking forward, Tuấn plans to continue with “Vietnam Retropunk” and freelance commissions. He is slowly but steadily working on the first illustration for Book 3 of “Vietnam Retropunk,” as he believes there is still more ground to be covered with the series’ purpose, message, and central themes.

Tuấn's award-winning entry.

For now, through Vietnam Retropunk 1 and 2, Tuấn inspires his audience to not only remember but appreciate and hold dear the slower-paced, analogous way of life that is so enjoyably Vietnamese in this age of rapid technologization; to maintain focus on the small things of value; and to use advanced technology to serve the things that matter.

With a total population hardly larger than some Saigon districts and limited tourism development, Phú Yên province doesn’t get much consideration when people are planning their next vacation.

Photo by Frederik Wissink.

Such overlook is a great shame, however, as the province features a spectacular stretch of beaches beset by mountains and untrammeled nature as well as friendly folk eager to share charming traditions. The food is fabulous as well.

View of the sea and Zannier Hotels Bãi San Hô. Photo by Frederik Wissink.

The Routes to Phú Yên are Half the Pleasure

Photo by Frederik Wissink.

530km by road from Saigon, directly below Bình Định and to the east of Gia Lai and Đắk Lắk, the coastal province takes some time to reach. Saigoneer will forever advocate time on the train, and the North-South railway (Reunification Express) stops in Phú Yên. Idyllic rice fields, placid ocean overlooks and imposing mountains in the distance: the trip is an endless series of scenic delights. However, the ride from Saigon to Tuy Hòa station lasts between nine and ten and a half hours, making it a challenge for shorter vacations. Thus, direct flights to Bình Định are a great option.

Photo by Saigoneer.

Phù Cát airport rests 30km outside Quy Nhơn, but you will need to pass through the city en route to Phú Yên. In Saigoneer’s experience, it's highly worthwhile to have some extra time in your schedule to spend in and around the gem of a city. One of the nation’s best history museums; imposing Chăm towers reminding visitors that a foreign empire once claimed southern Vietnam; a touching monument to a brilliantly bizarre poet held within a surreal leprosy colony filled with remarkable architecture; and a new science museum that is particularly thrilling for families are all worthy of a visit. 

Photos by Saigoneer.

When you finally do pass from Bình Định into Phú Yên, you might not be aware. The transition occurs in a rural area that typifies the entire province. Small fishing villages and idyllic rice and vegetable fields surrounding shrimp ponds occupy the spaces between small towns and villages. The existential crisis of tradition and modernity metaphorically exemplified by the battle between tạp hóa and foreign convenience stores, feels decades away in Phú Yên. 

Nature Flourishing in Every Direction

From the reflections of con cò gliding across flooded rice paddies and the haunting cries of thạch sùng at midnight to colorful blooms of wildflowers rioting freely on cliffs and forests, rural nature is Phú Yên’s greatest gift. 

Photo by Adaras Blogazine.

Phú Yên’s relative isolation and sparse population should be particularly welcome by beach lovers. The vast stretches of empty sand cloistered by rocky outcroppings allow for calm sunbathing and vigorous backstrokes alike. Depending on which part of the province you venture to, there are different beaches to access, with lesser-known ones available via the advice of locals. One of our favorites is undoubtedly Hòn Yến. Every summer, favorable tides transform the coral reefs into a stunning landscape that calls into question whether forests should be most associated with land or sea.

Photos by Trương Hoài Vũ for Saigoneer.

Fresh Seafood and Some More Peculiar Dishes

In addition to providing beachgoers with picturesque views, the ocean has helped shape Phú Yên’s cuisine. A bevy of fresh seafood is available throughout the region, with a particular focus on tuna. Because many of the fishermen that go deep into the sea to catch these giant fish depart from the region, tuna is found in restaurants and markets and even frozen in convenient “to go” packaging at thePhù Cát airport. Tuna’s meaty, tough-textured eyes are particularly treasured and sold fresh at restaurants.

Photo of bánh hỏi cháo lòng by Saigoneer.

While giant tuna eyes may sound unusual, Phú Yên’s most unique dish is probably chả dông. Resembling a fried spring roll, you might find anywhere in the country, the meat inside the crispy rice paper wrapping is harvested from wild monitor lizards during their late spring through early summer breeding season. The subtly smoky, gamey reptile flavors blend into the local herbs, vegetables and fish sauce. Fish sauce is also traditionally used in Phú Yên for grilled corn, another twist on a nationwide dish. And even if you consider tuna eyes and lizard flesh too adventurous, there are many new dishes to experience, such as bánh hỏi cháo lòng, which pairs porridge with delicate rice noodle mats. 

Photo by Zannier Hotels Bãi San Hô.

Trendy fusion spots, familiar chains and upscale restaurants are largely non-existent in the province, so meals reinforce Saigoneer’s beliefs that the best food is often served at the most unassuming venues. From market-adjacent mom-and-pop stalls to humble seafood joints along coastal roads, the freshness and careful attention to each dish cannot be surpassed.

Exploring Rural Charms and Timeless Industries 

Photos by Frederik Wissink.

Instead of chintzy theme parks and overpriced attractions, Phú Yên contains more valuable opportunities to observe unique traditions and experience the generosity of locals who are not hardened to the transactional qualities of the tourism industry. Simply getting out and driving around the surroundings or strolling through towns and markets often yields invitations to witness small industries such as making fishing traps from wood foraged from nearby forests and massive flats of drying salt that resemble an impossible gathering of stars in the night sky. 

Photos of salt fields by Frederik Wissink for Zannier Hotels.

A highlight of a recent Saigoneer trip included visiting a home that had perfected a family recipe for producing rice paper. Explaining each step before inviting us to sit beside the fire stoked with rice fibers and trying it ourselves revealed the attention paid to the simplest items we take for granted on a daily basis. 

Photos by Ash James.

A World-Class Hotel that Offers Immersion into Phú Yên's Charms

Photo by Zannier Hotels Bãi San Hô.

Given Phú Yên’s rural charms, you could reasonably assume all available lodgings would be local and basic. However, the province is home to a world-class hotel that provides unparalleled service and amenities that help one experience the area. Needing no introduction amongst luxury hotel enthusiasts, Zannier Hotels Bãi San Hô occupies 245-acres of pristine nature and beachfront on a secluded peninsula in central Phú Yên. 73 free-standing villas pays homage to the region’s early cultural aesthetics with different architecutral legacies embraced for views of verdant rice paddy fields, majestic hilltops or a mile-long stretch of white sand beach. The property's sprawling forests filled with birds and butterflies, panoramic views of the ocean, and generous staff all help make it simply one of the most impressive and enjoyable hotels Saigoneer has ever visited in Vietnam.

Photos by James Campbell (left) and Frederik Wissink (right).

But more than just a place to pamper one’s senses, Zannier Hotels Bãi San Hô helps you get a true feel for the area. The on-site restaurant, for example, serves local specialties that take advantage of freshly caught seafood, while experienced chefs can help you gather ingredients from the on-site organic garden to learn how to make local dishes. Watersport equipment and bicycles are available to rent and a calming spa cater to days of rest and wellness one should intersperse with adventures off the property. A hiking trail just beyond the pool leads to phenomenal views before ambling down into a small village. The hotel also offers guided excursions further into the area to witness the locals making rice paper and fish traps and can arrange a meal in a home in a floating community. A stay at Zannier Hotels Bãi San Hô is thus a great way to balance desires for pampering oneself with responsible and intimate discovery of people and lifestyles.

Photos by Frederik Wissink.

There is no telling precisely how long Phú Yên will retain its rustic charms and awe-shucks sensibilities. As developers arrive to transform the coast with resorts and industry develops in the interior, the natural serenity will slowly slip away. But for now, it remains a wondrously calm area for wistful jaunts to make sepia-toned memories.

[Top image by Frederik Wissink for Zannier Hotels]

In Vietnam, you can find a Lego set in official Lego stores or any big toy shops at high prices; but if you take a different route, you can find Lego sets being sold by small vendors for much cheaper. But those sets are a little bit different; they are branded as “Lele'' or “Lepin,” or just white Chinese characters on a red square. For decades, these bootleg toys have been a widely popular option for Vietnamese kids.

“Bootleg,”  “fake,” or “counterfeit” toys belong in the shady, unlicensed section of the toy world. Some are made to imitate specific authentic products, while others are unauthorized toys merely resembling characters, objects, etc. from popular franchises. These bootleg items are the arch-nemesis of many global toy manufacturers.

A quick Google search of the term “bootleg toys” will give you a general idea of how these items are perceived. Unofficial merchandise is generally criticized for its unknown origins, copyright violations, and subpar quality, but it still has a big presence in many Vietnamese children's lives.  

I learned about bootleg toys when I was old enough to go to class and saw them being sold by bicycle vendors in front of the school or nearby grocery stores. Back then, I had no concept of what were real or fake toys; all I knew was I could spend my pocket money on Beyblades, yo-yos, Pokemon figurines, and toy versions of popular TV characters.

The quality of those toys was not great, but everyone around me was playing with bootleg toys, so I viewed their shortcomings as the norm. For example, when it came to Beyblade battling tops, real Beyblades were superior to counterfeit ones, but since my friends all had fake Beyblades too, we were on a level playing field. We simply grabbed one or two Beyblades for VND20,000 each and used a plastic basin or a Danisa cookie box as a battling stadium.

Bootleg toys have an unpolished charm that captivates children. To better understand the appeal, I visited the toy market to explore the current landscape of fake toys. I observed a recurring theme: the crossover between popular icons.

Since bootleg toys don’t abide by any copyright limitations, manufacturers have the freedom to mashup any pop culture character or property you can think of, as long as it appeals to children. Kids love Thomas the Tank Engine, but have they ever seen Thomas in a badass robotic form? Minecraft is popular on YouTube Kids, so here is Superman as a blocky Minecraft character! Famous mascots such as Hello Kitty, Pikachu, Marvel & DC superheroes are stamped on almost every type of toy, phone, car, helicopter, tambourine and puzzle. It feels like bootleg toys were made based on the wild imagination of a child. 

It's also fascinating to see the quirky side to counterfeit toys’ branding. To avoid copyright lawsuits, bootleg manufacturers use various tricks, such as deliberate typos, including “Diensys” and “Mineecraft.” There are also clever switcheroos that you have to inspect closely to spot, like “Avcngcrs.” To skirt the copyright rules, some licensed brand names get changed into related topics, like One Piece is named “Pirates”; and my personal favorite is how the Frozen franchise gets changed into either “Fashion” or “Freeze.”

Bootlegs are very cheap, which is ultimately why they are so popular. The toy market I visited sold the biggest, most expensive toys within the VND100,000–200,000 range, while cheaper options were quite affordable at only around VND15,000—50,000. Back in my school days, I remember buying them with ease if I refrained from getting sodas and snacks for a day or two.

Messing around with bootleg toys, having Beyblade battles and playing Đập hình with friends were fun, but parents, teachers and school supervisors advised us against buying them because they distracted us from studying and could even be dangerous. At the time, I only took it as grown-ups not knowing how to have fun, but as I got older, my feelings changed.

A news article from 2015 uncovered some unsettling features of specific bootleg toys sold in Hanoi markets. The toys could play audio telling stories, reciting poems, and more, but some of the content was inappropriate. There was an apple-shaped toy broadcasting vulgar comedic stories, for example. The dark recordings can get quite intense, as the report found toy iPhones containing messages touting substance abuse, and worst of all, a Doraemon figure with an angry monologue encouraging self-harm and suicide.

With all this in mind, I have a love-hate relationship with bootleg toys. The knockoff universe is large and wacky, comprising anything from top-notch entertaining items to downright unhinged, terrifying products that shouldn’t exist. I despise how their unregulated nature results in some unsafe situations for children, but at the same time, I do appreciate them for being a part of my childhood, and a source of joy for me and my friends.

By the end of 2025, Honda will cease the manufacturing of all motorbikes with 50cc engines, including the beloved 50cc Super Cub, to comply with stricter emission standards. 

Honda Motor Co. announced that the move is to comply with Japan's new emissions regulation that will take effect in November 2025. The rules, which aim to align with global standards, make it difficult to produce small engines in a cost-effective way as component prices have soared.

Moreover, demand for the fuel-effecient machine has been on a steady decline due in large part to the increased popularity of electric bikes. From a high of 2.78 million units in 1982, Honda sold only 92,824 last year. 

Since its introduction in 1958, the Super Cub has sold more than 110 million units, making it the world's most popular motorbike. And while beloved in its native Japan, Super Cubs have aways had a special relationship with Vietnam. Since Americans military officials first imported them in 1960s, they have been praised for their reliability. Evolving from being cutting-edge to capturing nostalgic cool, their style has inspired lavish celebration over the years.

A TVC, filmed in Vietnam and released in 2017, by Honda to celebrate the Super Cub. Video via Video Lucu@.

While most will mourn the loss of the iconic bike, some fans of the iconic style may look to Honda's 150cc version of the Super Cub, which will continue to be manufactured and sold. In addition to a larger engine, the pricey vehicle has modern features such as smart keys and LED turn signals. Vietnam recently saw its first genuine import from Japan, a notable development as previously the less-popular model had to be imported from a factory in Thailand and many believe those are of lower quality.

The discontinuing of all of Honda's 50cc bikes also means an end to Honda Giorno, Honda Dio, Honda Dunk and Scoopy 50cc.

[Photo: A father taking his son on a ride along the Nha Trang coast on the family's trust Honda Super Cub in the 1960s. Photo via Flickr user manhhai.]

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Dragon fruit has existed in Vietnam for hundreds of years, but it wasn't until the 21^st century that it made its debut in instant noodles. 

From hero to zero

Dragon fruit, a type of fruit-bearing cactus, originates from the deserts of South America. It crossed the ocean with French colonists to Vietnam in the 19^th century and was cultivated in scattered plantations across the colonies. Evolving in harsh environments, dragon fruit developed a robust growth capability, thriving without much water and withstanding the tropical sun and wind.

In the 1980s, thanks to the development of a market economy, domestic agricultural cooperatives adopted new technologies to cultivate dragon fruit on a large scale. By the 1990s, local farmers could sell a kilogram of dragon fruit for VND80,000, enough to buy a decent bicycle at the time. At one point, dragon fruits accounted for up to half of the country's annual fruit and vegetable exports, fetching high prices in foreign supermarkets.

When dragon fruits are not “rescued” in time. Photo via Tuổi Trẻ.

Yet, despite its past international glory, the recent narrative surrounding dragon fruits in Vietnam has been less illustrious. Poor production planning has led to bumper harvests, leaving farmers struggling as supply outstripped demand. Dragon fruit frequently ranks among the top fruits needing “rescue” due to market fluctuations, sometimes dropping to a mere VND1,000 per kilogram. We've all seen heart-wrenching scenes showing dragon fruits abandoned by the pile on the pavement or even fed to cattle.

Then, after years of being a “rescue” commodity, sentiments about dragon fruits changed with the release of a viral advertisement.

*Jingle automatically plays*. Photo via Mì thanh long VinaCaty.

Catapulted into fame from a viral promotional video

In November 2023, the TikTok channel of Mì thanh long VinaCaty (VinaCaty Dragon Fruit Noodles) posted a product advertisement, claiming that the clip was made with a humble budget of VND200,000.

In the video, reminiscent of a PowerPoint presentation complete with crude transitions, a package of noodles floats across the screen. Two dragon fruit mascots, resembling the purple dinosaur Barney, dance along. The scenes cut between vast dragon fruit fields in Bình Thuận Province and hardworking farmers during harvest season. All of this is set to the booming voice of a choir, mixed in karaoke-style background music.

The simple lyrics are as follows: “For the first time / Dragon fruit is in instant noodles / For the first time / Dragon fruit noodles bring a message / Love / Dragon fruit instant noodles / Caty instant noodles / Dragon fruit instant noodles / Caty instant noodles / Bringing you love / Caty instant noodles / Bringing you peace / Dragon fruit instant noodles…”

Dragon fruit noodle theme song, now coming to your nearest karaoke post. Photo via Mì thanh long VinaCaty.

Among modern ads featuring famous artists and sophisticated sound and visual effects, this 2000s-style TVC stood out in its simplicity. Its naive, “DIY” charm warmed viewers’ hearts and made them want to support the “underdog” instant noodle brand.

Netizens quickly created review clips and meme images. The brand capitalized on the viral wave, transforming itself into a meme by releasing karaoke remixes, one-hour loops, and interacting with customers on social media through the persona of “Pé Thanh Long” or “Lil Dragon Fruit,” an intern working under pressure, who prefers watching anime and doing TikTok challenges over posting conventional corporate-appropriate content.

VinaCaty's social media plan is essentially spamming unhinged content. Photo via Mì thanh long VinaCaty.

In reality, the noodle had been launched in March 2022, way before the meme went viral. However, it wasn't until the karaoke song that the brand gained recognition from the public.

Before becoming famous, VinaCaty's online store made less than VND1 million each month, despite being active for nearly two years. But soon after the song’s viral success, the vendor was overwhelmed with orders, with sales increasing 600 times in just two weeks. Dragon fruit noodles became a sought-after product, and Lil Dragon Fruit became a beloved meme figure. Other brands followed suit, launching products and posts inspired by dragon fruits.

In just a month, dragon fruits' visibility in Vietnam surged dramatically. Photos via Knorr Vietnam; Pizza Hut VN.

From a somewhat obscure brand, Caty's unique advertising approach and the sudden surge in attention catapulted the product into the league of the most inspiring figures of the year. For the first time, dragon fruits were everywhere, but most importantly, they were in the average Vietnamese's noodle bowl and mind.

What's in a meme?

When discussing Caty Dragon Fruit Noodles' sudden fame, experts often analyze the event from a business strategy perspective — a clever lo-fi marketing campaign, orchestrated by savvy Gen Z staff who understands trends and young people's mindset to capture public attention. However, often overlooked are the human factors: the people who have been rooting (pun unintended) for dragon fruits since the beginning.

Dragon fruit noodles were born in the context of the pandemic, when dragon fruit could not be exported, leading to thousands of tons being stockpiled at border crossings. Dragon fruit, with its soft flesh and skin, spoils easily and cannot be stored for long. Facing this situation, Caty Food, a dragon fruit company in Bình Thuận, the dragon fruit capital of Vietnam, decided to research and develop dragon fruit noodles to provide a stable outlet for farmers.

Photo via Mì thanh Long VinaCaty.

Initial attempts involved mixing dragon fruit with wheat flour, but the mixture didn't have enough elasticity, so the strands would break when pulled. Frying was also challenging due to the different cooking temperatures of the two ingredients. After many failures, the company collaborated with the Ho Chi Minh City University of Food Industry and the Saigon Economic and Technology Institute. With the support of professors and doctors, they successfully produced this special type of noodle after nearly two years of experimentation.

People: Consumes dragon fruit noodles. Dragon fruit farmers in Bình Thuận: Stonk. Photo via Mì thanh long VinaCaty.

Elated with the success, the chairman of Caty Food, an amateur musician and former dragon fruit farmer, composed the dragon fruit song and conceived the idea for the “Lil Dragon Fruit” mascot. The TVC was scripted and produced by the company’s team, resulting in the "homemade" quality we see today. It wasn't until a year later that a new young employee rediscovered the video, saw its potential, and decided to reuse it.

In an interview, the song's creator acknowledged its unpolished nature. The simple editing and repetitive lyrics were noticeable, but these elements weren't intended as marketing tactics. Instead, the roughness was just a natural result of farming and production experts tapping into their creative sides. The traditional aesthetics of the older generation came across as cheesy to younger audiences, and the original message got somewhat lost in the brand's chaotic humor and identity. While the meme was undeniably amusing, it's crucial to remember that this all started because the creator genuinely believed that “With love, dragon fruit brings many health benefits,” hence the lyrics “bringing you love.”

What's next?

Trends come and go quickly, but the rising popularity of dragon fruit noodles sparks thoughts about how we should go about promoting the country's agricultural goods.

Showcasing Vietnamese agricultural products requires a narrative that the public, especially young people, can relate to. Photo via Thông tin Chính Phủ.

“Farmers have not yet paid much attention to branding, and their investment in packaging remains minimal. Currently, many fresh agricultural products from Vietnam are simply packed in cardboard boxes and transported for sale [...] However, they need to create a narrative for each product, from its origin and production process to the love they put into it, to truly gain consumer trust,” shared an expert on enhancing public perception of Vietnamese fruit and agricultural products.

Vietnam has been blessed with abundant delicious and affordable produce, but it a hard sell trying to promote them to a wider audience if the message consistently remains “support high-quality Vietnamese goods” or worse, “rescue high-quality Vietnamese goods.” We need to repackage them in newer, more exciting ways that can resonate with modern consumers.

From left to right: Wasapy, Jumball và Miyasan. Photo via Mondo Mascot.

We can perhaps take some lessons from Japan, where adorable mascots are regularly used by regional authorities to promote their local specialties. Some of Saigoneer's favorite characters include Wasapy, a wasabi root with an azalea on its head; Jumball the Third, a watermelon king representing the town of Nyuzen; or Miyasan, a soft tofu dog from Hiroshima.

In a country rich in resources like Vietnam, the possibilities are endless. Without even trying, we already created an icon that is the chubby, noodle-obsessed Lil Dragon Fruit from Bình Thuận. But imagine, we could have Miss Grand Orange from Vĩnh Long, Auntie Pomelo Năm Roi, or maybe Uncle Plum from Hà Nội. We succeeded brilliantly in our first attempt. What exciting things lie ahead for our next steps?

Fun fact: Red-fleshed dragon fruits are typically rounder, while white-fleshed ones have an elliptical shape. This difference is reflected in the appearance of the two Lil Dragon Fruit mascots. Photo via Mì thanh long VinaCaty.

A sparrow swooping across a special-edition can of Coca-Cola, the illustrations featured in the artworks of Ngọt's Grammy-nominated album boxset, or perhaps even the tattoo on a stranger you pass on the street: you have probably seen the work of Khim Đặng, the man behind Saigon fashion brand easybadwork, without knowing it. His graphic designs have graced a variety of commercial and collaborative works in Saigon, but easybadwork is his hobby business. “A true business makes you money, a hobby business makes you happy,” he told Saigoneer.

Easybadwork products at LÔCÔ Art Market (left) and Khim Đặng's show “Thả Hổ Về Trời” last year. Photos via easybadwork Instagram and Khim Đặng's Instagram.

I've seen easybadwork products at LÔCÔ Art Market, OHQUAO and elsewhere in the city, and attended his first solo art show, Thả Hổ Về Trời, last year, so I was already a fan of Khim Đặng’s style, but visiting him in his home studio earlier this month, what really impressed me was his approach to art, creativity and lifestyle. 

Khim Đặng in his home studio.

Five years of easybadwork

Quality work takes time and effort; it’s difficult. Khim Đặng ardently believes this and thus playfully flips it for the tongue-in-cheek name, easybadwork, which he occasionally further changes to phrases like easybadhuman and easydeadwork on designs. Specializing in T-shirts, bandanas and caps, the brand is celebrating its fifth anniversary this July, which serves as a perfect opportunity to reflect on its origins, ethos and future.

Photo via easybadwork Instagram.

Easybadwork began simply when Khim Đặng’s friends started asking him to put his artwork on T-shirts. He gave away the first batch of 10, except for the one piece he saved for himself, a habit he continues today for the sake of archiving his work. Shirts, he admits, are the obvious first move for any clothing brand, but bandanas are more unique. He explained that they result from his propensity to create mirror-image designs that fit comfortably on a bandana’s square shape, as well as paper’s fragile nature. Prints often get bent, wrinkled, and ultimately thrown away more easily than cloth. So in addition to functional fashion accessories, easybadwork bandanas can be hung and displayed like paintings.

Easybadwork has become more popular over the years, but Khim Đặng limits each product run to 100 pieces, including the one he always reserves for his personal cataloging. Once they sell out, that’s it; he refuses to re-print or re-release popular ones. And each month, he releases one new design to keep himself creatively motivated. The decision to operate this way reflects his motivations for easybadwork as a whole: “The goal is not making bestsellers, it's a creative life,” he said.

A self-proclaimed lack of style that's impossible to miss

Tigers with elongated torsos and an occasional extra set of limbs; rabbits leaping through flaming hoops; slithering dragons and elephants circling verdant undergrowth: while easybadwork doesn’t restrict itself to any particular subject matter, a few themes and images reoccur, particularly Vietnamese flora and fauna.

“I love and respect nature, but I cannot do anything to save the environment and nature in Vietnam or the world; I’m too small. [So] my work is to keep nature in mind - for myself and for the people that buy it,” Khim Đặng explained. 

Images via Khim Đặng's Instagram.

This reverence for wildlife and its prominence in his artwork were cultivated, in part, by a trip he took with his mentor Tuấn Andrew Nguyễn. For a project the renowned artist was working on, they visited several of Vietnam’s national parks and observed how humans and animals interact. Khim Đặng was surprised to see that the individuals leading the efforts to protect the forests were mainly foreigners, suggesting a need to raise awareness and appreciation for nature amongst Vietnamese. Art allows him to channel his passion into this productive goal. Frequently depicted as supreme deities, the animals featured by easybadwork aim to instill a sense of pride, admiration and respect for nature. He hopes this will result in better stewardship of the natural world. 

When our discussion of favorite subject matters turned to talk of his influences, Khim Đặng brought up Grimms’ Fairy Tales, and how if those German stories could become books, films, cartoons and general pop-cannon fodder worldwide, why not Vietnamese ones? This realization further motivates him to include references to Vietnamese myths, fables, phrases and cultural touchpoints, particularly for but not limited to Vietnamese audiences.

Plates made in collaboration with a local ceramics artist.

I asked Khim Đặng how his style has changed over the past five years, but he rejected the question’s premise, claiming he has no specific style. Rather, his work represents the confluence of all his influences: the many artists across mediums that he knows personally here in Vietnam, as well as those abroad with whom he is acquainted via social media and online portfolios. While working for Tuấn Andrew Nguyễn, Khim Đặng learned studio, film and production design, sculpting, and fabrication that he added to his repertoire of self-taught skills. He can point out specific elements of his creations that he learned via studying other individuals, but ultimately, his work is a tapestry of styles and comingled reinterpretations of countless artists that he has admired and attempted to emulate in different ways. He hopes to pay this concept forward as well, encouraging young artists to seek out his work and copy it as a form of practice while they work on developing their own styles that they can eventually share with the world. 

The value of a boring, orderly lifestyle

Easybadwork is not a profitable venture. Khim Đặng explains that, after the cost of supplies, with an emphasis on always treating his suppliers well by paying on time and not asking for discounts, and renting his studio space in a shared District 10 tube house, he has yet to turn a profit, and isn’t concerned if that never changes. He has a few unrelated business ventures that bring in relatively passive income and he also takes on contract design work for brands, but admits his fierce commitment to his own vision has earned him a reputation as a “difficult” artist in some circles. “I really don’t care about the brand target, I just do [the work] for myself and try my best,” he explained. It appears that this approach has helped him, as the only clients that approach him now do so as fans of his creations, eager to give him ample latitude and limited demands.

Recent commercial projects.

Khim Đặng is fastidious about the materials he uses. The imported shirt fabric, for example, is stunningly nice — soft but sturdy and made to last; among the best I have ever encountered. When discussing materials, he explained that screen-printing his designs poses a challenge, particularly in creating gradients and shading with only four colors. His printer, serendipitously, was his friend back in 2013, long before either was on their current career trajectories. When the pair reunited years later, they discovered their respective talents fit perfectly. Smiling while proudly showing off the printing details up close and praising his friend’s work, he says he has no interest in learning how to screen-print. His friend can do that, and Khim Đặng is a firm believer in the power of appreciating creative industries without a desire to pursue them. 

This idea of leaving specific fields to those passionate about them reoccurs throughout our conversation. Khim Đặng enjoys creating album designs for musicians and of course listening to music, but has no desire to create music himself. Similarly, he spent four years helping tattoo artists in a loose collective improve their illustration skills, but has never wanted to learn to tattoo himself. Contributing flash designs and helping the group secure a space and sponsors is enough. Similarly, he recently created a stunning three-piece series of gold sign lettering with his friend, Saigon Gold Signs, who has studio space in the same tube house, but Khim Đặng doesn’t plan to get into letter design. 

Tattoo flash designs he drew and now keeps in his personal archives.

“I started underground, I like underground,” he explained of his DIY lifestyle that consists of networks of creatives across mediums. I recognize the impact of this “brotherhood” as he calls it in his willingness to do all his own marketing and promotion as well as his skepticism of private galleries that approach him, expressing fandom for the sole purpose of profiting from his art. It pairs well with the assemblage of tools that fill his workspace for his various projects as well as the expansive garden of philodendrons on the balcony. Learning from the internet and plant enthusiasts in Saigon, he has slowly cultivated what he estimates to be one of the 10 largest philodendron collections in the city. And when they get too large, he gives trimmings to his friends to grow. It’s all really quite punk when you think about it.

As much as I love the designs themselves, this punk vibe is what I admire most about Khim Đặng. He creates with a spirited confidence in his personal taste and vision with no concern for commercial implications. And yet he does so with a regimented schedule and organization at odds with the romantic notions of the devil-may-care artist one might expect. Answering my first email within an hour, he proved to be the most responsive and organized creative I’ve ever engaged with. Every morning, he wakes up early, goes out for breakfast and returns to his workspace, a set of wooden tables he handbuilt 15 meters from his bedroom. He will remain in this space until 5pm, after which time his energy is reserved for friends and family. It reminds me of the famous French novelist Gustave Flaubert who advised: “Be boring, orderly and bourgeois in your life, so that you may be violent and original in your work.”

Before founding easybadwork, Khim Đặng fulfilled his compulsory military duty which he credits with helping him appreciate the virtues of a strict schedule. And although he acknowledges that previous dalliances with youthful, rowdy indiscretions helped develop his perspective, he knows such behavior would have ultimately doomed his ambitions, if he hadn’t abandoned them. This maturity, coupled with his ability to make ends meet, convinced his family of the potential for a successful life creating art. Coming from a family of business-minded individuals, he had encountered all-too-common condemnation when he revealed he wanted to be an artist. It took some years until he was again welcome in his family’s home.

That Khim Đặng’s fiercely free-spirited style exemplified superficially by his sleeves of menacing tattoos is juxtaposed by the routine of an accountant and supplemented by a calm and earnest reverence for nature is interesting enough. But the most endearing aspect of his personality might be his humility: “I don’t want to be famous, I don’t need everyone to know who I am. I just want to grow authentically and make merchandise for people to have nice stuff and to create a legacy.” 

In suburban Hanoi, this is the season when mulberry branches heavy with bright red fruits dangle in the summer wind.

The sunshine of April arrived with blasts of sweltering heat, dispelling the waterlogged curtain of March’s humidity. It was officially summer in Hanoi, a time for countless types of fresh fruits to showcase their vivid ripeness on the streets in town, competing with the mauve of jacaranda and the golden yellow of hoàng yến.

Ripe mulberries are a harbinger of summer.

Compared to the season’s usual players like pineapple, lychee, longan and mận hậu, mulberry’s entrance to the capital’s fruit shops and traditional markets has been quicker than most. Northern Vietnam’s mulberry season spans not even a month from the end of March to the beginning of April. Mulberry ripens fast, and falls and bruises easily, so its shelf-life is short. Each day’s mulberry harvest must be shipped off within a few hours. Mulberries are juicy, refreshing, and full of good vitamins, so families often process them into preserves and syrups to increase their life spans. Ice-cold, sweet-and-sour glasses of purple mulberry juice are a popular way for Hanoians to soothe their parched throats in the summer, dispelling the heat and stuffiness of weather changes.

Mulberry juice is a fantastic third-quencher.

Behind the flashy appearance of mulberries at mobile vendors is throngs of farmers hard at work at their plantations just 30 kilometers from central Hanoi. In patches of land by the Đáy River such as Dương Liễu Commune (Hoài Đức District) and Hiệp Thuận Commune (Phúc Thọ District), mulberry plantations pour greenness towards the horizon. The quietude of the countryside poses a stark contrast with the chaotic traffic and people of inner Hanoi. Amidst the vastness of the land, one can only hear the buzz of cicadas, the soft hum of the wind, and the occasional call of farmers on the fields.

The banks of the Đáy River are the home of Hanoi's major mulberry plantations.

Here, farmland is irrigated year-round by the placid Đáy River. The riverside delta is home to Hanoi’s sought-after mulberries, believed to be juicier and sweeter than anywhere else. As one walks farther into the plantations, the air is thick with the aroma of ripe berries, natural vegetation, and toasty summer sunlight. Rows of mulberry trees are planted neatly, though they barely exceed the average human height. Ripening fruits hug the branch in scarlet clusters. From the main trunck, small offshoots meander over the ground, interweaving like red garlands.

Pickers must hurry to race against the mulberries' delicate constitution.

Each mulberry is just a few knuckles long; the smallest is as tiny as the pinky finger, while the biggest can reach the size of the middle finger. How productive the trees are highly depends on the weather. Sunnier years will yield sweeter, juicer harvest than those when rain is the prevailing weather pattern. In between picking sessions, I can see the bright smiles of the berry pickers when they get to reap the sweet rewards of their labor.

Ripe berries cover every branch.

Mulberry is easy to grow and to care for.

Only after I managed to pay a visit to the hometown of Hanoi’s mulberries could I bear witness to the urgency in the farmers’ work in order to beat the ripening rate of the berries. Paying no mind to the searing sun, they can’t waste any moment, toiling in the plantation from 6am to 6pm to pick berries. Larger gardens might need additional workers to catch up, even with a picking speed of 20–30 kilograms per day. Their fingers nimbly maneuver in between branches to pluck out the mulberries, careful not to bruise them before they get into boxes. Every palm is painted with the intense red-purple of mulberry juice. The fruits are boxed up immediately to catch the next bus trip to the city. Each mulberry tree can provide around 80 kilograms of fruit per season. “Picking mulberries is not difficult, but you must be really delicate so they get to consumers when they’re still fresh,” Vân, a picker, told me.

Harvesting the berries is not tough but the fruits bruise easily.

“Mulberry is the only fruit that’s immediately polished off the moment we finish picking. I’m never afraid nobody would buy them. People take these home to make preserves and syrup. Some manufacturers of canned drinks and fruit wines also buy straight from the plantation,” the farmers shared as they were weighing their harvest. Thanks to suitable weather, this year’s yield is 1.5 that of last year.

Freshly picked berries are immediately bought by wholesalers.

Mulberry likes humidity, sun, and heat, so trees are often cultivated next to rivers. It’s also easy to care for with relatively low costs involved. The delta by the Đáy River has been the most major birthing ground of Hanoi’s mulberries. Here, traditionally, farmers merely grew mulberries to collect their leaves to feed silkworms; planting them for fruits has only been around for the past 15 years. This experiment has been fruitful in both meanings of the word. Since then, Dương Liễu and Hiệp Thuận berries have traveled all over Hanoi and even southwards. Mulberries emerging from the Đáy River delta not only lend their sweet taste to the northern summer, but also contribute greatly to the local economy.

Each plant yields about 80 kilograms per season.

After a fruiting season, heritage mulberry trees are pruned to help them preserve energy for next year’s summer. The cycle continues every year: with summer comes the verdant green of mulberry plantations, and then the striking red shade of ripening berries. Mulberry season goes away as quickly as it comes, leaving fans yearning for a taste for the rest of the year.

At an estimated cost of VND157 billion (US$6.17 million), the controversial renovation work on the square in front of Bến Thành Market is set to begin this fall and be completed by April 2025.

Bến Thành Market roundabout as last seen in 2016. Photo by Brandon Coleman.

Unveiled earlier this month, the plan for the 45,000-square-meter area around the intersections of Lê Lợi, Trần Hưng Đạo and Phó Đức Chính streets is said to include green spaces, trees, granite stones, cement barriers and a lighting system. It aims to revitalize an area that was blocked off and torn up starting in 2014 to carry out underground construction on the metro line.

Overhead of the Bến Thành Market square in 2024. Photo via VnExpress.

Despite previous announcements, the beloved roundabout that occupied the intersection until 2017 will not be rebuilt. Instead, a crosswalk and traffic lights will control vehicle and pedestrian passage. The square was home to a statue of a student protestor, Quách Thị Trang (since 1964) and a statue of 15^th-century military expert Trần Nguyên Hãn atop a horse (since 1965). Both were removed in 2017, but a rebuilt bronze version of the Trần Nguyên Hãn statue and the original Quách Thị Trang monument will be included in the new Bến Thành Market square.

A family poses in front of statues in 2014. Photo via Tuổi Trẻ.

The square was re-opened in late 2022 with repaved roads and walkways, and limited refurbishments. A new gas station and bus stop were also constructed at the time. The new plans include mention of public amenities such as benches, water fountains, bathrooms, Wi-Fi, vending machines and security cameras.  

A stylistic and architectural marvel upon when first opened in 1914, Bến Thành Market has endured as a landmark as its function in the city evolved from catering to French colonizers and providing locals with daily necessities to a tourism mainstay. In 2022, officials announced plans to renovate the market building itself for the first time since 1985.

Photo taken outside Bến Thành Market in 1938 via Flickr user manhhai.

Since the new look of the Bến Thành Market square was revealed online, netizens have been vocal in their opinions. While appreciating the attention to the sorely dour space devoid of soul, they have questioned the scarcity of proposed shade and greenery. The images have also caused some to lament the fact the roundabout will not be reconstructed. On the other hand, some have pointed out how there is need to clean up the litter and graffiti that have emerged in the empty space.

Have a look for yourself at the renderings below of the proposed facelift:

Proposed look for Bến Thành Market square (left) and current look (right).

[Photos via VnExpress]

It’s not Hoàng Thùy Linh’s catchy dance track ‘See Tình’ or the crossover Mekong Delta hit ‘Con gái miền Tây,’ the first Vietnamese song to amass one billion — or bill-ion, if you will — on YouTube is a children’s song about ducks.

Earlier this week, it was announced that a music video for the children’s music classic ‘Một con vịt’ (A duck) has officially joined YouTube’s billion-view club, alongside prestigious earworms such as ‘Despacito,’ ‘Gangnam Style’ and ‘Humpty the train on a fruits ride.’ 

‘Một con vịt’ is written by composer Kim Duyên, and was first performed by Vietnamese children’s music icon Xuân Mai in 1998, when she was four. It is arguably the most well-known song in the country, thanks to its widespread popularity in kindergartens and during family meals as a propagandist tool to lull easily distracted children into opening their mouths for food — this writer included.

Lyrics-wise, Kim Duyên opted for a naturalist stance, depicting the anatomy and key behaviors of a domestic duck with hyper-realistic descriptions: “A duck spreads its two wings / ‘Quack quack quack quack,’ it says / When [it] sees a pond, it splish-splashes around / When on land again, [it] shakes the wings to dry out.” To most children growing up in urban areas, ducks are hard to come by in the flesh, unless that flesh is deliciously roasted with five-spice; so for generations of prepubescent city slickers, ‘Một con vịt’ has helped reveal the simple joys in the life of rural poultry.

The ‘Một con vịt’ video that just went billion-certified on YouTube, however, is not Xuân Mai’s version that most Vietnamese born in the 1990s and 2000s grew up with, nor does it feature her vocals. It’s a 3D music video rendered in a style one can mean-spiritedly characterized as “we have Pixar at home,” featuring flat textures, animatronic-esque movements, and dubiously numbered ducklings. Why are the ducks numbered? What is this? Squid Game?

I suppose the overall video is cute enough, and the bright, sharp color palette has no doubt appealed to the developing sense of sight of children, but as a former child raised on Xuân Mai music, this newfangled 3D-schmeedee doesn’t even come close to the delights of the original video, which features cameos from actual ducks!

Did you know that several Vietnamese cities have coats of arms?

Coats of arms date back to 12th-century Europe and denote membership in a specific family, state, organization, school or corporation. The French brought them to their colonies which resulted in several cities in Vietnam having unique images designed by appointed authorities:

Saigon’s medieval-style coat of arms includes the nation's revered Indochinese tigers posed amidst native plants. The large boat in the middle honors the city’s shipbuilding industry, while the Venus star overhead symbolizes the Far East. The crown of towers at the top is a common French indicator of administerial rank, with five signifying the highest. The city’s 1870 maxim “Paulatim Crescam” means “I am to grow little by little,” which seems rather ironic today.

Hanoi’s coat of arms incorporates several local histories, particularly the legend of Hoàn Kiếm Lake via the sword in the center and dragons that harken to the capital’s former name of Thăng Long. It adds European imagery via olive branches symbolizing peace and oak branches for wisdom. The “sol invictus” at the top is a common French depiction of the sun with wavy rays first associated with the Roman sun god and later used for the Statue of Liberty. The words “Dislecta Fortitudine Prospera” at the bottom means “Courage brings the prosperity we want.”

In contrast to Hanoi and Saigon’s medieval style, Hải Phòng’s coat of arms is rendered in a Baroque style with Vietnam’s sacred whale god, cá Ông, at the center with a large anchor paying tribute to the city’s obvious role as a port. The three circles at the top represent Christianity’s holy trinity. The motto “Portunam Tulit In Undis” translates to “The harbor brings the ocean’s gifts.”

A pair of Lạch people (a subgroup of the K’Ho ethnic minority) stand at the center of Đà Lạt’s coat of arms. The city is an alteration of Đạ Lạch, or “stream of the Lạch.” The French used the name Đà Lạt to create the bacronym motto “Dat Aliis Laetitiam Aliis Temperiem” meaning “It gives pleasure to some, freshness to others,” a clear allusion to the city’s original use as a vacation destination for colonial officials, which is reinforced by the picturesque rolling hills.

Deciding how to deal with the remnants of colonialism is a fraught endeavor with some people proposing such extremes as destroying all trees that were planted by the French, and others upholding colonial architecture as the premier design aesthetic. Some might think that being able to appreciate these coats of arms as odd relics of history and unique visual interpretations of the cities’ characters falls somewhere in the middle.

[Images via Wikimedia]